


You Ate My Cereal

by vengeantEntropy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BBC, Cereal, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Short, Spoilers, Three Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vengeantEntropy/pseuds/vengeantEntropy
Summary: Sherlock Holmes had a great fall.Now three years later, John Watson just wants some cereal. He gets a bit more than he bargained for.





	You Ate My Cereal

**Author's Note:**

> So I was really angry an hour or two ago and I found this prompt "Who wouldn't be angry you ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years!" which works really well with Johnlock and I just had to. The good thing is that I'm not that angry anymore x3
> 
> This is the first short story that I've written that hasn't developed into a monster long story. Accomplishment achieved. 
> 
> Also, let me know if the tags/warnings/whatever should be fixed because I've never posted on this platform before and I'm not quite sure what I'm doing. Oh well. At least I can write. XD  
> (I also don't know how to use italics on here, shhhh) Until I learn how to fix it and it isn't about 3am, then internal thoughts of John are going to be: *thoughts*  
> Edit: I figured it out! It should be fixed now.
> 
> OH RIGHT, SPOLIER ALERT. DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO SEASON THREE OF SHERLOCK BBC (If you have seen all of season two, then you are good to proceed. Just take it as my version of the aftermath of "The Reichenbach Fall.")
> 
> Enjoy!

Slamming open the cupboards, John grew restless as he continued to be unable to find the cereal. _I literally just bought a new box the other day. Where could it have gone?_ John growled at the kitchen as he flung open the fridge door, hoping that maybe it was inside, but no luck. 

John was about to close the door when he did a double take. _Wait, are those thumbs? But I didn't- Only Sherlock would ever- No._ John stopped his train of thought right there. It was likely just Lestrade playing a prank on him anyways. No need to be concerned over the highly realistic looking thumbs in the fridge. John gingerly shut the door and decided to search the rest of the flat. Maybe he had just left it somewhere in a bout of insanity. 

John grumbled as he shifted through the mess that had accumulated in the living room and decidedly did not look at Sherlock's old armchair. The memories were too painful. It had been three years and yet it felt like it had only just happened yesterday. John winced as he sharply turned away and headed for the bedrooms. He froze as a crunch was heard. 

Hardly fumbling due to his military training, he pulled the handgun from his pocket where he kept it for... safe keeping... John crept up to the door. _Someone's in Sherlock's room_ was the only thought running through John's head. Now logically, he should just text Lestrade or hell, even Mycroft, and have one of them deal with the intruder, but for reasons best left untouched, John decided to take matters into his own hand. It wasn't as if he had much to live for anymore anyways. 

Silently, he reached for the door handle and in one swift movement, flung it open and trained his gun on the intruder. 

A snort of amusement was heard after the thud of the gun. "Drop something?" The man asked, watching in amusement with an eyebrow lifted as John stood there with his arms still trained in his direction, shaking. A turmoil of emotions physical and mental hit John in the chest. His lungs constricted and it became difficult to breathe. Despite this, he pushed out a haggard "S-Sherlock?" 

"Good to see you again John." The ravenette replied from his position on his own bed. John staggered forward, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. "But you- St. Barts- you were dead." John managed to state the obvious. Sherlock chuckled. ""It's all a trick." Didn't you hear me back then?" He asked before bringing a spoonful of cereal to his mouth. 

John's attention became hyper focused as Sherlock crunched on the cereal. Instantly, as if a trigger had been pulled, John was boiling with anger. He lunged forward and pinned the man to the bed, hands around his neck. "You- you bastard!" He spat as he tightened his grip before releasing his neck to pull back. "Three bloody years, Sherlock! I waited three bloody years for you." John screamed in the man's face. His fist drew back and he punched Sherlock in the jaw as hard as he could, not even taking comfort in the slightly pained noise his punching bag produced.

John's head spun and he was forced to tighten his grip on Sherlock's shirt to not fall over. His head felt cloudy and as though someone had stuffed cotton in his ears. He could barely register the small pricks of discomfort from where the hard cereal was pressed against him, spilled when he had attacked.

All it took was a simple "John," from Sherlock and the blistering rage that John felt froze. "I know I deserved that, but why are you angry?" The man underneath John asked. "Who wouldn't be angry? You ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years!" John growled at him. 

Something seemed to click in Sherlock's mind and an "oh" of understanding escaped him. "Yes, that. Well it is only fair to mention that I did tell you it was all a trick. Surely you didn't really think I was gone?" Sherlock offered to his old friend. 

"Of course I bloody well thought you were dead! You didn't have a pulse." John hissed at him. "I had to attend your funeral." He added, voice growing in volume. Sherlock shrugged. "Mycroft would have told you-" the man was cut off by a sharp stinging pain to his cheek. 

"MYCROFT DIDN'T TELL ME SHIT AND NEITHER DID YOU!" John roared at his exflatmate. "Did you really think you were going to just be able to waltz in here, eat my bloddy cereal, and act like nothing had happened when it very clearly did?" He questioned, his voice beginning to crack. 

"I- John, I did not think-" "BECAUSE YOU NEVER THINK." John cut him off. "You just do and you expect me to understand and then I don't and I'm left behind as you go and do gOD KNOWS WHAT for thREE BLOODY YEARS." Johns chest constricted and he gasped in pain as fresh tears leaked from his walls. The same walls that he had built three years ago after the funeral of the lunatic he was currently straddling.

Sherlock refrained from replying and instead chose to fiercely wrap his arms around John and tug him flush against himself. Unbalanced, John accidentally tipped over and his weight crashed into Sherlock's chest, forcing them to lay down. Sherlock began to rub John's back in steady, soothing circles as John sobbed against his chest. 

Shhing and cooing at the distressed man, Sherlock kept a firm grip around his waist so that John remained against him. "I'm sorry, John. Truly, I am. I never meant to hurt you. I did this for you. So you could be safe." Sherlock rambled as his hand crept up into John's short sandy blond hair and played with it. 

Eventually, the shorter man calmed down and his sobs turned to sniffles which died out. When he reached a calmer state, John felt his face flush at his proximity to Sherlock, but also felt reluctant to move away. "Better?" Sherlock's voice rumbled softly like a calming storm. John refrained from replying and hid his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck. It was funny. It was almost as if they were two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly to become one piece. One whole. One entity. 

A though occurred to John. The detective almost never ate and instead thrived off of the thrill of the chase. _So why had he been eating cereal?_ When John voiced his confusion, Sherlock simply kissed the man's forehead and stated, "Because I was home and I felt hungry." And that was all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
